


A Card Full of Love

by Anacrea



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Canon Era, Everybody Loves Enjolras, Gen, M/M, Printer Enjolras, Romantic Friendship, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-18 13:34:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13682736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anacrea/pseuds/Anacrea
Summary: In which Enjolras accidentally creates the mass-produced Valentine's Day card industry





	A Card Full of Love

“What’s this?” Enjolras hadn’t been expecting a letter, let alone one attached to a bundle of winter flowers. He regarded them with mingled confusion and mild distaste, but the gamin who’d brought them just shrugged impatiently.

“Most people are happy to have a Valentine,” he said dryly, holding out his hand for a coin. Enjolras obliged, paying him a few sous and watching him dart away down the steps of the building and into the streets.

“A valentine,” Enjolras repeated to himself, laying the flowers down on a table and divesting them of the letter concealed within them. The thought that it was likely sent by some admirer did not make him any more eager to read it, but after a moment he unfolded the sheet of paper and set his attention on the contents within.

It was a lengthy poem penned in a familiar hand, professing admiration and devotion to the angel Michael. It spoke of him in intimate, florid terms, as the herald of a new age – a beacon who illuminated the sight of a safe harbor in the distance, while warning of the perils along the way. By the time Enjolras finished reading and saw the little curled signature of “Jehan Prouvaire”, he was regretting his earlier disinterest. Far too generous, perhaps, but the sentiment was touching all the same. Enjolras looked over the flowers again and, while he did not quite understand the point, set them within one of his larger glasses and set the letter in front of them, if only so that Prouvaire would be pleased when he stopped by.

With the intention of conveying his gratitude to his friend in person, Enjolras pulled on his frock coat and hat and then opened his door, startling Combeferre, who had been standing just behind it.

“Oh!” Combeferre’s eyes were wide, and he looked a bit as though he’d been caught doing something silly. “Were you headed out?”

Enjolras stepped back with a fond smile and motioned Combeferre inside. “I was, but I’m sure I’m not in such a rush that I can’t spare a moment for you.” There was a pause, where Combeferre appeared to hesitate and Enjolras tried to ascertain what the matter was with him, but he carried on soon enough.

“Just a small thing,” Combeferre said, reaching a hand into his pocket. “I know your watch was broken recently. And I thought of you when I spotted this, so, I thought I’d give it to you.” He brought out the watch and handed it to Enjolras.

It was undoubtedly the very latest innovation in one way or another, knowing Combeferre, but to Enjolras it was quite attractive without being ostentatious – except, upon second glance, he noted a small engraving on the fob of the watch: chéri. Tracing the word over with his finger, head lowered to examine the item, he heard Combeferre above him. “You may think of it as a little Valentine’s Day present, if you wish.”

That again. Enjolras took a breath and lifted his head to look him in the eyes, feeling a frown on his face. “Thank you. It’s lovely, Combeferre, but I haven’t anything for you in return.”

“Oh, don’t worry, Enjolras; I hadn’t expected that you would.”

Combeferre meant it, too. His tone and his expression were quite earnest, but that only made Enjolras feel guilty. He broke eye contact, looking in contemplation towards the flowers that Prouvaire had sent. Combeferre followed his gaze, and Enjolras felt more than saw him stiffen beside him.

“Thank you,” Enjolras said again, looking at Combeferre and taking his hand, clasping his shoulder with the other. “I like it very much, and I’m honored that you thought of me today. Happy Saint-Valentin.”

“Happy Saint-Valentin,” Combeferre said in response, relaxing again and stepping forward to embrace him, loose and gentle but heartfelt.

Combeferre didn’t stay long, having other things to attend to, and Enjolras fastened his new pocket watch in pride of place on his waistcoat. He was touched by the generosity of his friends, and though Valentine’s Day had scarcely ever crossed his mind before, he did want to reciprocate with something to let them know that their affections were returned in spades.

When he left his apartment that time, it was no longer with the intention of going straight to Prouvaire’s, but rather of picking something up along the way. He ended up in front of the flower market, feeling no less bewildered and out of place than he would have expected. That could safely be ruled out as a means of expressing his sentiments, then.

Just as he turned away, he heard a booming voice call behind him: “Holà, Enjolras!”

It was Bahorel, armed with the sort of smile that meant trouble was on its way, which was nearly always true in his case.

Enjolras turned, only a little startled by the interruption, and gave him a smile of his own. “Good morning, Bahorel. You look like you’re on a mission.”

“It’s true!” he said proudly. “My mistress and I decided last night that if we spotted anyone today who we felt particularly drawn to, we would invite him or her – our true love – to share an evening together. And otherwise, or if whoever we met should refuse the invitation, we shall have to be content with one another for another year.”

Enjolras raised his eyebrows, not feeling very impressed.

Bahorel continued. “Nothing could surprise me more than spotting an Enjolras at a flower market, so it’s surely a sign.” He beamed. “In truth, I’m glad it’s you I happened upon. I know already we are bound together by blood and spirit, so the effectiveness of this method is proven. I know also that you will not have the slightest interest in accepting my invitation. Being content for another year suits me just fine.”

“You would make that offer to any man, if he happened to intrigue you?” Enjolras asked.

“Why shouldn’t I?”

There was no arguing with that. “I am glad to play a part in your happiness, Bahorel, in whatever form that takes.”

“Aha, but wait!” Bahorel produced a folded, decorated card and handed it to Enjolras. “I won’t have my name besmirched by allowing you to say I did not enValentine you. Fate has brought us together today, after all. True love, companion of my heart – to hold you is to embrace the sublime.”

Bahorel spoke with such cheer, and with such a sparkle in his eye, that he appeared on the edge of laughter, but Enjolras knew better than to dismiss his sentiments by assuming they were a joke. He took the card in one hand and smiled at Bahorel. “If that is your way of asking to hug me, you should know there is no need,” he said, and Bahorel did laugh then before pulling him into a quick, exuberant embrace. “Thank you.”

When Bahorel bid him farewell, Enjolras had time to examine the card. It was clearly handmade, with paper and ribbon cut to decorate the edges. Yet the style of the pattern itself seemed simple enough. Rather than trying to find an appropriate floral arrangement, a card and a few short words of affection seemed much more natural. Clearly, however, this was no longer just a matter of reciprocating the sentiments of a friend or two – and he adored all of them, even if he’d never thought of this as a day to remind them of it. Still, he hardly had the time or the ability to handcraft more than half a dozen unique cards, and then to inscribe all of them individually.

He didn’t have to.

Within the next couple hours, he’d set up and put into production a quick run of impressions on the smaller press, not only enough to give to his friends, but an additional set for several the workers who had not had the opportunity to procure something for their own purposes. It was very little extra hassle, after all, and he could hardly begrudge them that in thanks for occupying one of the machines.

When they’d finished printing, Enjolras took the time to detail in brief his fondness for each of his friends. It hardly seemed adequate to express the wellspring of emotion he felt for each of them; he wondered if it would not have been better, after all, to call on each of them individually and tell them in person how his heart swelled with pride and affection each time any of them were brought to mind. But there were other days, still, for that, and it was not a task he would neglect to attend to except for certain special days of the year.

He paid one of the younger apprentices to see them delivered, and imagined that was the end of the matter, but stayed a little while longer to assist where he was needed. Just as he was on his way out, he was accosted by a frazzled stranger.

“Is it true you’re selling cards for Saint-Valentin?” he asked.

Enjolras, taken aback, only blinked and shook his head lightly. “It isn’t really…”

“Please.” The man clasped his hands in front of himself, interrupting Enjolras. “I’m sure I saw your icon – that one – on the back of a card. I am desperate. My mistress is not very understanding, and we are going to see each other in less than half an hour.”

Enjolras just regarded him blankly at first, pursing his lips, but he supposed they had an extra or two from the run he’d made, and so he nodded. He procured one of the cards and handed it to the stranger, who thanked him profusely, gave him a small pile of coins, and then rushed off.

With very little interest in that mystery, Enjolras returned home soon afterwards. By the time evening fell, a veritable crowd had lined up outside the doors of the shop, and the workers were forced to produce many subsequent runs in order to keep up with demand. But Enjolras didn’t know and didn’t care to. His attention was caught, instead, by the small shower of tokens of affection that had been left while he was gone, each individual and heartfelt – and he ended the evening with his heart full of love for his friends, and with a new appreciation for the unique ways each of them had of offering him the same.


End file.
